Terrible Revenge
by Rhaegal Nymeria Stark
Summary: Theon stared up at this king, this sadist. He thought he had seen hell, but now the mutilated Greyjoy may be happier with Ramsay, for what awaits him is horrific.


Disclaimer: I own nothing

Rating: M for safety

Genre: Horror/Romance

Summary: "It's really a pity," The king said, throwing his head back in laughter, "It's truly ironic. I, a Stark, will be the last thing you will see." And Theon Greyjoy could do nothing as the smoldering hot tip of the sword was moved to his eyes to blind him.

**A Most Terrible Revenge:**

Theon Greyjoy didn't know how he had been blessed by the old or new gods, but he had. Theon would never, even before Winterfell was sacked by Bolton, claim to be a religious man, but as he was being lifted up from the wooden planks that he had been tied to as Ramsay cut some of the skin off his shoulder, Theon at that moment, would believe in any god that his saviors told him to. Ramsay Bolton was dead now; hit in the throat with an arrow while he was wielding a knife, cutting at Theon's shoulder. As soon as he had collapsed onto the Greyjoy's already shaking, tortured form, many hands had appeared, untying the ropes and lifting him from the boards and out from underneath the monster that had tortured and violated him for so long to stand on his feet.

That had been nearly two hours ago….at least, that was when Theon suspected it had taken place, still, the Ironborn was nonetheless endlessly grateful to his protectors. His fingers, shoulders, mouth and gums and even his reproductive organs, all mangled, and yet he still couldn't hold back his blubbering words of gratitude. Ramsay Bolton's army lay in ruins, and these strange, enigmatic knights that were hauling him by his arms through the stone gates were well armored and looked ready to protect him at any moment.

All those years of captivity, all those years of torture and blood, all those years of being imprisoned in his own mind, ghosts from his past haunting him for the sins he committed against the Starks. The madness forced upon him had been endless. The pain Ramsay had inflicted continuously had driven the Greyjoy into near insanity and in the end, he had succumbed to the demons reminding him again and again of the retribution he so deserved for murdering those two farm boys and taking over Winterfell, betraying his brother, Robb, even if the two of them were not related by blood.

The memory of his sins, along with Ramsay's needless, murderous cruelty had left Theon like this; a shell of the warrior he used to be. He was sad, pitiful. Almost a doll now with no will of his own. He _had_, however,retained his identity. He still knew who he was. He had repeated it in his head every night when he went to sleep…or when Bolton _let_ him sleep. He would repeat again and again that he was Theon Greyjoy, and not a "Reek." He would not let Ramsay change that at least, even if the monster was going to maim and alter everything else about him.

He lolled his head to the side, seeing the knight to the left that was holding him. The knight was tall and had a silver helmet that bore three sharp, metal horns that sprouted from the top of the head gear. There was a black chest plate over the front of the knight. The chest plate was embroidered with the symbol of an animal running. But from the angle he was at, Theon could not see what the sigil was, and the knight's arms were blocking his view anyway. However, from what Theon could make out of the sigil, it looked rather familiar.

Screams surrounded them as he was pulled past burning bodies. Fleeing and burning men that had once identified themselves as Theon's fellow Reeks ran across their paths, screaming for someone to put the fire out, though no one did. Flaming arrows hit man after man, warriors clad in steel sliced their swords down, removing men's upper torso's from their lower. Ramsay Bolton's reign was being destroyed in the most deadly and ghastly way possible. This, Theon realized, was a little suspicious. Why was he being the only one spared?

Everyone else, including all the labeled "Reeks," had been killed or were currently being slaughtered, but he was being protected for some reason he couldn't fathom. What made him more special than the others?

The once terribly exhilarating hope that Theon had bore in his soul now turned and twisted into horrid fear and paranoia. Still, nothing could be worse than being in Ramsay Bolton's power, right? Nothing.

Even if these were Jon Snow's allies that had simply rescued him to punish and kill him, then he was still grateful. He would give his soul up to the "Drown God" himself or any vicious god for that matter, if only for one moment of salvation and being delivered from Ramsay Bolton's hands.

Theon was pulled into a dark, stinking tunnel. The tunnel, save for Theon and the two knights carrying him, was isolated, empty, and as cold as he imagined the grave would be. He felt small, furry creatures scurry past him and brush against his almost bare ankles. (_Rats_) He thought to himself with disgust, but he didn't care. If going through this tunnel and past all the rats got him away, then he'd take this repulsive passageway. Besides, hadn't he been in already a filthy enough hellhole to care? He should be used to it by now.

Theon moved his head about in a bobbing motion. Apart from knowing what his true name was, in resistance to Ramsay's violations of him, he didn't really have any will of his own any longer. He didn't know what to do. He just stared up at the tunnel's slimed stone ceiling and at all the cruddy cracks surrounding them inside the structure of the tunnel. He felt like the tunnel would collapse on him at any moment. If it weren't for the fact that there were two other knights with him right now, holding him, he'd actually wish that the tunnel did cave in on him, so as to release him from this torment. To give him some true peace for once, the peace that he had been denied now for years.

Though he was looking at the ceiling, out of the corner of his eyes, Theon could see almost white light up ahead at the end of the tunnel. He had once heard Maester Luwin say, as the young Greyjoy had grown up within the walls of Winterfell, that if one was near the end of his life and was entering the "Nightlands," Afterlife or whatever it was, they had to bathe in the light that appeared at the end of darkness. Was that what was happening here? Was he dead? Were the two knights truly guardians or gods coming to bring him to the afterlife? Theon smiled at that thought as the light wrapped around him and the soldiers. Maybe he was finally being sent to the afterlife. To be condemned or to be freed, he could hardly say, but he would resign himself to be taken by the sweetness of death.

However, no flames of the underworld, nor any foreboding, abominable face of an old god met his gaze, but another army, all clad in the same armor that the two knights carrying him were. His eyes gazed over the lot of the knights. It was larger than an army; the lot of the knights was a gigantic mass. He then heard a chuckle and his eyes were drawn back to the front of the so called army, and he saw a tall, strong looking man between four of the knights, looking proud. It was only when Theon noticed the golden, thorny crown upon the man's head that it dawned on him what was going on. This man was a king! And all of the knights here was his army; part of this man's kingdom.

He also noticed that along the rocky terrain that the king and his men were all standing on, had a small, dark brown, wooden table and chair next to them and the table had several maps opened on it. The maps looked like they had been opened and closed so many times that the paper seemed to be nearly ruined and the images on it faded. Next to the maps, was a large, shiny golden goblet that looked so bright that the sun's light couldn't compare to it. There was also an impressively sized glass pitcher next to the goblet that contained a great deal of a dark liquid that Theon highly suspected, from how deep brown the drink was, that it was stronger than whine.

Once Theon was done inspecting the inanimate objects, he turned his attention back to the king, who as he found, was watching him carefully. The king stared at Theon, appearing unfeeling. Theon had a very unsettled instinct in him at the sight of this king. The king was tall, broad shouldered, was wearing black clothing under dark gray armor, his feet were clad in black leather boots, there was a sheathed sword strapped to the left side of the king's belt and a dagger on the right. The man also had a long, pitch black piece of fur tied around his neck that was hanging like a cape down to the king's ankles, but was hanging down over the left side of his body, making it clear that the king had deliberately pushed the fur coat to the side so it hung at that angle. He had wild, red-blonde hair and a thick, red-blonde beard around his cheeks, chin and under his nose to go with it. Theon wasn't sure why, but this king made his skin crawl. What was more, he had a strange whisper in the back of his mind telling him that there was something familiar about this king; like he had seen this man before, years ago.

Theon ignored that disconcerting contemplation as his eyes traveled to the king's golden crown. He was almost sure that he had seen that crown before. It looked like a crown that belonged once to a Baratheon king. The crown looked like it had dark golden antlers protruding from the hoop and main base of the crown. Yes, it had been a Baratheon crown once, but Theon had a feeling that this man did not have the blood of a stag running through his veins.

This young looking king did not appear the way he'd imagine a Baratheon to appear. Then again, he had seen Robert and Stannis Baratheon a couple of times and they looked nothing alike. He had heard stories of Renly Baratheon as well and he heard that he showed no likeness to his brothers either.

Theon was carried by the two knights till he was standing right in front of the king, the crowned man's fierce, and to be honest, terrifying eyes met Theon's confused, tormented and completely lost ones.

Theon, who had been so relaxed in the two knights' grasps, was now tense and frightened. What scared Theon was the man's eyes. The young king's eyes were dark green. They were as green as the dark summer leaves on the trees, but despite their natural and beautiful color, there was something malicious in them. A dark gleam that Theon had seen only in Ramsay's eyes.

But once again, now that Theon was looking directly at this man's eyes, he was almost sure, certainly, that he knew this king from somewhere, though he could not remember or fathom from where.

"Hello, Theon Greyjoy." Came the stony, firm and commanding voice from the king, eyes remaining as in control and as dangerous as they had been when Theon first laid eyes on him.

Despite the cold tone in the man's voice, Theon was sure that there was some familiarity within the man's words as well. The castrated and tortured former Ironborn couldn't explain it, but even in his most distressed and maimed state, he noticed that the king's eyes held recognition. Yes, there was something familiar about this man, and this man recognized him as well. Theon's pain subsided for a moment as he felt a brief flicker of anger and frustration. Who the _FUCK_ was this king?!

Finally, some tiny shred of Theon's will came back to him as he managed out desperately, "Who are you?" However, his momentary strength was instantly beaten down when he saw the king narrow his eyes. Years and years of experiencing Ramsay Bolton's excruciating ministrations had stripped him of nearly all bravery to defend himself, even in the worst circumstances. Hence, the king's annoyed look prompted him to amend himself quickly, "I mean, I would be honored to know who you are, your grace." Theon tried not to shudder at the sight of the king smirking in satisfaction. God, how pathetic had he become over the years?

"You don't know who I am, do you?" The king spoke again, this time he sounded very, very amused. His smirk then widened, "Of course you don't. Why else would you have asked? And besides," The man's smirk turned into a disturbing grin as he moved to the wooden table next to several rocks that had a golden goblet on it and some maps splayed across the top, "How could you recognize me after all these years, Theon? It's been ages. Last time you saw me, I was quite young."

He slowly, but confidently seated himself in the wooden chair in front of the table, still facing Theon, pushing his black fur cape to the side even more, to give him room on the chair, and he grabbed the goblet as he leaned back, lifting his legs up so that his booted feet slammed their heels down on top of the table lazily.

Seeing their lord like this, the knights that were hoisting Theon up, moved him over till he was standing in front of the table and forced the Ironborn to look at the spiteful king, who was now drinking from the goblet, though his eyes never left Theon's.

"No," Theon groaned out helplessly, "To be honest, I don't know who you are." However, Theon now had a dreadful feeling at what this king said about being young when Theon had last seen him. He did not like where this was going.

The king parted the goblet from his lips, leaned over to the table and placed it back down before lying back against the chair again. His eyes were now settled calmly on Theon, like a predator's eyes would be.

"Tell me something, Theon," He asked, voice leveled, "Those days, at Winterfell," The king's voice hardened at his own words, "How old, may I ask were the remaining Stark heirs; Bran and Rickon Stark?"

Theon's head shot up at that. He was completely confused. What did his taking of Winterfell and Bran and Rickon have to do with anything right now? Seeing Theon's look, the king let out a growl, "Answer me, filth!" He then nodded to the knights holding Theon and the next thing the Ironborn knew, a harsh, hard backhand clad in metal met the side of his face, throwing his head to the side and Theon experienced an iron taste in his mouth, and something warm trickled down his chin.

He felt another steel covered hand grab his hair, forcefully turning his head to look back at the arrogant looking king who was now grinning in what Theon suspected was sick joy.

"Answer the question, Greyjoy." The king ordered again, this time, his tone hinted at there being no room for resistance. Theon nodded, trying not to flinch at the pain the action caused as the back of his head hit the gauntlet of the knight's hand holding him.

"Bran was ten," Theon finally consented, "And the little one…Rickon, I think he was four."

Again, the broken Greyjoy was beyond understanding what was happening here. But the king continued, "And how old do I look to you, Theon?"

Theon was startled by this question as well, but he had already tasted what happened when this king wasn't answered so he wouldn't hesitate again. "Um," Theon took a closer look at the man and gave a guess, "I think about twenty, twenty-one."

The bearded king smiled, nodding, "Almost twenty. I'm nineteen but my nameday is coming up in a few months."

The fact that Theon had just been physically assaulted and was already ruined enough after Ramsay was what motivated the eunuch to quickly praise the king, "Congratulations, your grace."

The king just smiled and nodded and then added, "So tell me then, Theon, given how old Rickon Stark was when Winterfell was taken by you, and since almost sixteen years have passed since then, how old would you say Rickon would be now?"

That final question struck terror into Theon's heart as he questioned himself how he had not seen the connections before. He understood from these questions, he now knew _exactly_ who this king was.

Theon's eyes widened, now taking in the king's appearance as if he had just met him for the first time, even though he now realized of course he hadn't. God damn it….how could he not see it?! The red-gold hair, the green eyes, the hate that was so bluntly shown towards him….Gods!

Come to think of it, now that Theon looked very closely at the king's breast plate, he saw the animal that was running embroidered on it. It was the same as the sigil on the rest of the knights' breast plates. He inspected it well enough to know now. A wolf. The sign of the Stark House.

"Rickon…." Theon whispered, shock overtaking him now. How…how?! The king-no, king Rickon Stark leaned his head back and grinned sadistically. "That's right, Theon," He laughed, "It's me. Back from exile and bearing Renly Baratheon's crown."

The king cocked his head, smirking and his lips covered some of his fierce looking teeth, "I stole Renly Baratheon's crown from his grave when we found his ashes and gravesite not but six years ago. I have to say, I never knew being a king was so easy. Renly must be turning in his grave over having a Stark heir bear his crown and govern several different armies outside of his own."

Denial, terror, pain, desperation and agony chased each other around inside Theon's torn soul. What did this mean for him? Could this really be Rickon Stark, grown up? If this man was indeed nineteen, close to twenty, the age certainly was right, and good god, did this man look like Catelyn Tully, with some of Ned Stark's features. Theon shuddered. What was going to happen to him if this was Rickon? Considering what Theon had done the last time he had seen Rickon and his crippled brother, Rickon had every reason to kill him.

Theon went through the memories of the many sins he had committed against the two young princes after he had taken Winterfell. He had betrayed the family that had looked after him for years, had imprisoned the boys in their own home, murdered those that went against him, _right in front _of the two young lords' eyes for them to be traumatized, and then had dismembered two innocent farmer's boys and burnt the two boys alive as a warning to the people of Bran and Rickon's home. Yes, he had done quite enough to deserve death at Rickon's hands. However, as Theon thought about this, he realized that it was for the best.

Theon had ruined Rickon and his brother's lives, and they deserved justice. Theon smiled, lowering his gaze to the rocky ground. Ramsay Bolton had destroyed his will, had maimed him and made his heart and soul lay in decimated pieces; perhaps if this was indeed Rickon here to kill him for vengeance, then maybe he could finally have peace.

"Oh, Theon," Came the harsh laugh of the man who _claimed _to be Rickon, breaking the helpless man from his thoughts, "You think I'm going to kill you? You think I'm going to give you any rest? No, no, dear Theon. I've suffered too long, as has my brother. You deserve to suffer as well. You will be tortured just like you were with Ramsay, when I say you will be."

It took a moment for Theon to process those words, and then another few seconds. The initial shock of the man's words passed, but unfortunately, the horror that came with them didn't.

Theon's utter repulsion must have shown on his face, because the man who was supposedly Rickon, was grinning so widely, that he looked like a monster from one of those fairy tales that Theon had heard Bran's nanny tell the little lord about years ago.

"What's the matter, dear older brother?" The king asked mockingly, sitting up and removing his legs from the table, "You don't want to experience more pain? You don't believe the punishment fits the crime? You betrayed our family and murdered servants that tried to go against you, and you killed those two poor boys," The supposed Rickon's face darkened even more as his grin turned hateful, "It's your fault that I, Bran, our wolves, Hodor and Osha had to leave and were lost for years and why Osha and I had to separate from Bran and Hodor. It's your fault that Mother and Robb had no one to help protect them when the Freys and the Boltons came and slaughtered them. Hell, you practically helped the Boltons by taking over Winterfell."

Cold fear took Theon, as did the grief of what he had done, and the only way he was able to distract himself from it was to yell, thinking that just maybe he could stall for time before thinking of a way to escape being tortured and broken again like Ramsay had done, "I don't even believe that you are Rickon Stark!"

The man just sat there, still smiling. Finally he got up and walked around the table, slowly walking till he was in front of Theon again and was facing him. The king's smile faded and his countenance suddenly became terribly grim and serious.

His dark green eyes so full of twisted promises met Theon's once again as he spoke, his voice dark and ominous like it had been before, "Bran, Arya, Sansa and I all saw you as our older brother. We loved you, Theon. You were like another sibling to us. We grew up with you looking after us just like Jon and Robb looked after us. Our mother, Catelyn could say what she wanted about trusting you, but we trusted and loved you. And the end result? You murdered the servants at Winterfell, whom you knew almost your whole life when they went against you, and you imprisoned Bran and me. You, Theon, will be granted no mercy."

Theon couldn't speak. He could barely even move, let alone tremble and lie back slightly into the arms of the knights holding him. The man claiming to be Rickon stepped back and then said, smirking again, "As for believing me about being Rickon Stark? Perhaps this will convince you of who I am."

The king turned his head to a group of his troops and nodded, eyes dominant and full of power as his warriors obeyed, going deeper into the mass of soldiers to get whatever it was he had called for without words.

The man turned back to Theon, the thick, curled hair of his red-gold beard glistening in the sunlight as his head moved. He glared at the Ironborn icily. There was a chilling silence that reigned throughout the rocky courtyard they were in for minutes, but to Theon it felt like torturous hours. He was sure that if he had the strength and wasn't being held and was wielding a sword, he'd be able to cut the tension between him and this man with it, the uneasiness was so thick.

Theon wanted to plead, wanted to beg. Whether this man was really Rickon Stark, some Baratheon he hadn't heard about or someone else, he didn't know; he just wanted to escape this nightmare. It was a hellish world that he now seemed incapable of getting away from. He had entered into it foolishly and then had been dragged into the world of pain, flaying and scalding fingers by Ramsay, he did not need any more to convince him just how cruel this world was.

At last, Theon somehow found his voice and the ability to speak for himself, never minding the consequences that Ramsay Bolton had drilled into him if he had spoken out of turn, "Rickon," He started, "If it really is you, I beg you to stop. I was wrong. So wrong. I don't have any intention of going against your family ever again. I'll help you do whatever you want even!"

The king cocked his head to the right, smirking again. "Well, isn't that kind of you?" He chuckled, "I never would have imagined the great Theon Greyjoy being so generous. Or maybe so cowardly…which I can easily believe."

Even more desperate now, Theon opened his mouth again, but upon hearing several footsteps to the side where the army was, he shut his mouth and looked at where the footsteps were coming from.

The army parted into two different sections. Their armor clanging against the ground as they did, moving away like servants to a lord. Theon's new curiosity, which had been the only relief he had had from his dread, was now turning into pure astonishment when he saw who stood before him.

It was a woman. Not just any woman. A woman he had seen before. A woman he and Robb Stark had captured once in the forest. A woman that he had tried to pursue but had only given herself up when she deceived him and helped Bran and Rickon Stark escape Winterfell once he took it.

It was the wildling. The one called Osha.

The wildling stared at Theon, her eyes cynical. She was covered in warm looking clothes, however, they looked far too much like rags and pieces of mere fur for a woman looking after a lord. Even her weapons that she had strapped to her fur belts: daggers and knives and a short sword, all looked primitive, all looked like they were wildling made and not made by High Nobles. Rickon, who Theon finally admitted to himself at seeing Osha was truly who he said he was, must have realized what Theon was thinking because he chose that time to speak.

"Ah," Rickon laughed, "I see you find Osha's clothes and weapons odd. Well, I do too. I've tried to convince her to wear the clothes that a Lady would wear. After everything she's done for me, let alone what our….relationship is now," That caught Theon's attention and he turned and looked at Rickon, who was giving a side grin that made him look like a snarling wolf, "But she insists on wearing her old clothes. She says that she doesn't feel comfortable dressing like a lady. She's much more comfortable in her wildling attire and bearing the weapons she does. I suppose it makes her feel more like a wildling. Then again, I love her no matter what she wears."

As if to confirm what his and Osha's relationship was as he claimed it was, Rickon moved over to where the wild woman stood, his eyes now focused on hers and their gazes never left one another. Theon watched, mesmerized. He then noticed something even more questionable as he lowered his eyes to Osha's abdomen. Beneath the fur and cloth covering Osha's stomach, he noticed that there was a bulge in that area. The wildling's stomach was rounder than it should have been, not looking right with her fit, yet slim body.

Another realization came to Theon, almost shaking him. The wildling was pregnant. And if the look between her and….and…..and king Rickon was accurate, then he had a pretty good idea of just who the father of her child was.

"My love," Rickon whispered, now in front of Osha and cupping her face in his hands, "Are you alright?" Theon's eyes widened. _(My love?!)_ He thought to himself, repulsed. True, Rickon had just told him what their relationship was, but even hearing and seeing this was remarkable to him.

And, even in this culture, wasn't it distasteful? When Osha had helped Rickon and Bran escape, hadn't she been about twenty-four or so and the little lord had been only four? The age gap was quite large. What could possibly have happened in Rickon and Osha's journey together to make them this close? And he could tell just from how they held each other's gazes, that their bond was intense.

He didn't know what it was he felt as Rickon's lips pressed against the wildling's. Fascination? Horror? Confusion? Bewilderment? Basically everything he had already felt about a hundred times today, times one thousand? Probably all of the above.

He just watched the kiss go on. It was like observing a bloody carnage of a battle. He just couldn't tear his eyes away. It was the most interesting thing he had seen in what felt like a century, and it was the most terrible sight for him to behold in spite of all the flayed corpses Ramsay had presented to him.

All at once, a million thoughts assaulted his mind. Rickon Stark, the little boy that he had once seen as a little brother and who he had held captive in Winterfell was now a king. Rickon Stark, the little boy now had an army large enough to shame the armies of King's Landing. Little Rickon Stark was an adult and was now in a sexual relationship with Osha, the Wildling, who was almost two decades older than the young king. Osha, the woman who he had always wanted to bed was now the lover of the little squirt that had once followed behind Theon and Robb's heels like a dog. Rickon Stark, the tiny boy that had once looked up to him as a father had impregnated a woman twice his age.

All the realizations that collapsed onto Theon were enough to make any sane man lose his mind. Theon was already insane, and he suspected highly that all this new information would shred any specks of reason he had remaining.

The kiss lasted long. It was tender and the two were both traveling their hands over one another with reckless need, seeming to be unaware or uncaring of all the knights around them, watching them as Theon was. Theon was no fool to believe in falling in love, or in passion. He had never experienced or felt those aspects of intimacy before. But he realized now that he was witnessing a display of just that: passion and love.

He couldn't even conceptualize how it could have happened, given the age gap and that Osha would have just been Rickon's caretaker, but the wildling and the Stark heir had become bound in a union that was clearly unbreakable.

Finally, Rickon and Osha's mouths parted from the other's and they backed away, eyes still focused on one another. Rickon was smirking and Osha was smiling gently. Theon held his breath, sure he was going to hear another mocking remark from Rickon, until Osha spoke.

"I see yer surprised, "Prince Theon,"" Osha mocked, turning her head to the weak man, "Ye can't believe that a once young boy could be with me when I only laid with ye to 'elp 'im an' 'is brother escape?" Theon shivered at that rough but calming, calculating but warm accent and voice that had always aroused him. He had wanted this woman so much that when she had offered herself to him, he had thrown aside any caution. Didn't even try to suspect that there might be an ulterior motive aside from gaining her freedom. He had always been lecherous but there had been something about this wild woman that he had obsessed over ever since he and Robb first captured her in the forest. And here she was; the lover of someone whom she had taken care of since he was four.

The shock that Theon felt, along with the frustration that he was never going to be free was the only way he was able to muster up the defiance to talk back to the strange and beautiful wildling, "Yeah, I'm shocked. Back then you used me to escape, and you chose a man fifteen years younger than you?!"

Osha still smirked, "Well 'e at least still 'as 'is manhood." Those words hit Theon hard. The traumatic memory of what Ramsay had done to him right below his belt had taken root in his head and he would never forget it for the rest of his life. He would be unable to because he could no longer feel the pleasure of sexual thoughts.

"Now, Osha," Rickon laughed, "That was just cruel." Theon could tell that there was no compassion in that comment, "He already has to deal with the shame that he hunted two young boys. That makes him less of a man enough. Don't shame him further." Theon looked away, bile rising in his throat at the memory of his ruthless acts before Ramsay came.

"Rickon," Theon turned to look at the wildling as she approached her king and raised her hand to strong his bearded face, "Robb, Arya and Bran are waitin' fer us at the camp. We'd better 'urry. Get this fool done with and we should leave." What Osha said just now alerted Theon instantly.

"Robb, Arya and Bran?!" He yelled, feeling both surprised for the millionth time and hopeful, though he couldn't dare hope, given what he had been told happened to Robb at the "Red Wedding," "They're alive?! Robb survived the "Red Wedding?!" Where, where are they? How old would Bran be now, almost twenty-five or something?" Osha and Rickon had both turned to look at him, startled, but then their amused looks turned sour.

"No," Rickon said grimly, lowering his head. The proud king who once took such joy in taunting Theon was gone in only a few seconds and was replaced with this sorrowful man. Osha looked pained and put one of her hands to her stomach and the other was stroking Rickon's shoulder as the king said, "You misunderstand. The Robb, Arya and Bran we're talking about are not my brothers and sister. They're our children. Osha's and mine."

Theon was speechless yet again. He didn't speak-_couldn't_ speak. What was going on?! Had he landed in some bizarre level of the Afterlife, because this could not be real.

"The oldest is named Robb," Osha supplied, all humor gone as she stared at Rickon, "'e was born when Rickon was sixteen. 'E's almost four now. The twins, Arya an' Bran were born when Rickon was eighteen, only a year ago." She then turned and looked at Theon, "I'm five months pregnant with our fourth. If it's a boy then we'll name 'im after Rickon's half bastard brother, Jon. If it's a girl, we'll name 'er Sansa after Rickon's older sister."

The despair at that moment that Theon felt was unimaginable. But Rickon didn't let him grieve long. "That's enough for you, Theon," Rickon snapped, his head pulling up to glare at the Greyjoy, "You have no right to grieve as if you're one of the Starks. You betrayed us. You're the reason why I don't know where Bran is. You're the reason why I'll never see him and Hodor again. Your tears will not be welcomed unless they're from the punishment I give you!"

Theon looked from Rickon to Osha, face full of panic. "Men!" Rickon snarled, "Take him to the blacksmith's tent!"

Theon was at first baffled as to why going to a blacksmith would be terrible for him, up until he remembered the various tortures that had been unleashed on him with fire and scalding objects that a blacksmith would use. Horror possessed him, and he thrashed and struggled in the knights' grasps as they carried him down the rocky path towards a pure white tent up ahead. He could hear footsteps behind him and he glanced back to see Rickon, Osha and the rest of the knights following.

He squirmed with abandon against the steel covered arms of the merciless knights to no avail. "Please don't!" He screamed, "I'll do anything!"

"Ye'll do anythin'?" He heard Osha sneer, "Didn't Rickon an' Bran scream the same thin' when ye murdered the servants of Winterfell? Ye are just gettin' yer just rewards. If it weren't fer ye, Rickon an' Bran would still be together, an' they'd still 'ave a 'ome."

When they nearly got to the entrance of the tent, Theon cried out hopelessly, "It was Ramsay Bolton that destroyed Winterfell! Not me!"

"And whose fault is that?" Rickon demanded, "Ramsay Bolton would not have been called had you not betrayed us and Robb. He was a lunatic, but only came because he was sent there as retribution. And now we'll give you our own type of revenge, Theon. You stole our home, and now you'll pay."

Theon's head had been turned to Rickon, so the flash of white took him by surprise till he was up against the soft fabric of the tent as the three of them entered it. Rickon and Osha entered behind through the tent behind Theon and the knights.

Under the tent, it was dark. Almost black, but Theon's dull eyes made out the orange-yellow sparks shooting out of the dark, being born from the impact of the sledge hammer being clanged against the anvil. Theon flinched as memories of Ramsay entered his head again.

He heard Rickon's commanding voice again, "Ser Mythias," The boy king ordered, "Burn half of Theon Greyjoy's face off, and then blind him with the same heat that disfigured him!"

Terror and survival kicking in, he yelled, his voice proof of his lack of caution, "Rickon! Your Grace! Please, don't do this! I'm already a wreck, there's no benefit in doing worse! I beg of you, your Grace, I'll serve you."

"How?" Osha asked, her voice full of contempt, "Puttin' a spear in yer hand so ye can put it in our necks?" Theon shivered at the familiar words, "I don't think so, Theon."

As Theon heard a hissing noise, which as he saw to his disbelief and fear, was the hot metal being burnt by the blacksmith to get ready to scar the helpless man before him, there was the sound of a small child's voice outside of the tent.

Desperate for any sight before his vision was taken, Theon turned towards the voice coming from where the source of light was outside. There was movement and soon the entrance of the tent was being lifted. Through his dread, panic and revulsion, Theon was curious who this small child was. However, Rickon answered that question for him.

"Gods damn it," Rickon growled, looking to Osha, "I thought I told Robb to stay in his tent with his brother and sister."

Osha shook her head, "Ye know 'ow Robb is. 'E probably saw us come in 'ere an' thought that it was a game. Be merciful with 'im, my love. 'E is only four years old, after all."

Theon's eyes widened even more than they already had. Robb? Osha and Rickon's first born child, named for Robb Stark, his uncle? Theon sucked in his breath. Robb Stark was the man that Theon wanted to kneel down before and plead forgiveness. If he couldn't see the real Robb Stark, he'd take the child named after the Stark warrior.

And…four years old? Theon felt the tears well. Was there no end to the cruel irony in this world? That was the same age Rickon was when Theon had first taken over Winterfell.

The tent opened and a small boy appeared. He had tangled, mopey, dark brown hair, a trait he clearly got from Osha, was fairly round faced like his father, had Osha's nose and her skin tone. Theon stared as if hypnotized. The boy, aside from his nose, hair and skin tone, looked exactly like Rickon. And his eyes were the exact same color of dark green as his father's. Theon finally let the tears come. The resemblance to one of his _once_ brothers, and named after Robb….it was finally too much for the broken Greyjoy to take.

Theon's whimpers reached the child's ears and he turned to look at the new prisoner in his sight.

"Mother? Father?" The boy asked while staring at Theon, "Who is that man? Why is he crying?"

Theon's eyes never left the child named after Robb Stark, but he witnessed Rickon, who looked exactly like this Robb did at his age, kneel down in front of the concerned boy. Theon stared, unable to stop from being fixated. The boy was identical to Rickon, save for some of Osha's coloring. And as the Greyjoy took in the child's round face, plump physique and innocent countenance, he felt that he might just shatter into a thousand pieces, like his body was nothing but glass. He wished that he could shatter so as not to endure these revelations any longer.

This boy, being only of four winters knew nothing of war, let alone what kind of scum Theon was. This little Robb, second of his name was naïve and safe from all the unclean monstrosities of this world, so long as his father-king and wildling mother could help it. This child had no knowledge of Theon, and perhaps no knowledge of the Greyjoys in general.

However, Theon clearly heard Rickon say firmly all the same, "He's someone who has done something very bad and so he has to be punished. That's why we told you to wait in the other tent, Robb with your brother and your sister. There are very grown up issues in life that you're not supposed to learn until you're older. This is grown up stuff, you shouldn't see this, alright, son?"

Theon felt bile rise in his throat. This scene just seemed too familiar. He had witnessed a punishment like this years ago. He had witnessed Ned Stark decapitate a deserter from the Night's Watch, and Bran Stark had been there too, to learn the lesson that Ned felt that he needed to teach his second youngest child.

It seemed that Rickon would not allow such harsh lessons to be impressed upon his oldest. At least not yet. Perhaps when this little Robb reached the age of eleven or ten, Rickon would ruthlessly slice a man in half to demonstrate to his oldest just what the price of disobeying was, but now it appeared that the young king and his beloved wildling would shield the boy from the bloodshed of war and vengeance.

However, no matter how cruel this whole situation was, the guilt and desperation pushed Theon further into wanting to scream at the boy, without any worry for his safety any longer, 'I'm your uncle, Robb! I'm your father's big brother!' But he could not find the words to even whisper it. The shame and grief of what he had done forced the words to be stuck in his throat.

Osha decided to take the initiative and walked over to little Robb, taking him by the shoulders and moving him to the opening of the tent to take him away.

"Robb, my little one," Osha purred, "Ye need to get back to yer brother an' sister. They're only a year old. They need their big brother. I'll go with ye." She turned her head back one last time to look at Rickon and they held each other's gazes once again in a very intense manner before Osha turned her eyes to Theon and smirked at him one last time triumphantly, before whirling towards the entrance of the tent and picking little Robb up into her arms before leaving with him, so as to protect her oldest son from witnessing a most brutal act.

Once the tent opening was closed, Rickon turned back to the still weeping Theon. "So now you see what could have happened, had you not betrayed our family," Rickon said, voice foreboding, "It's true, if you hadn't betrayed us, I more than likely would never have ended up with Osha," Theon saw Rickon's eyes becoming pained at the thought, (a reminder to Theon just how shockingly intense the young king's relationship with the wildling was), "But if I had been with Osha anyway and you hadn't betrayed us," Rickon's eyes hardened in a poignant look, "You could have been our children's uncle. One more fuck up on your part, dear Theon."

Despair again hit Theon as he felt his body being hoisted towards the anvil that was now white hot on top; a sign of the excruciating pain Theon was going to go through in his scarring. Clinging onto one last hope that he hadn't destroyed all that was dear to the Stark family, he cried out, "What about Jeyne Poole?! What will happen to her?"

Rickon's eyebrows rose, almost hitting the rim of the crown he bore at that question. "You mean, all those years of your sins and now you care?" The young king quipped, "You do not deserve any reassurance, but if it makes you feel any better, Jeyne will not suffer. She was after all, a dear friend and servant of Winterfell and our family before their fall. Still, doesn't change the fact that you might have been able to help Robb during the Red Wedding. And all of us during our times of need."

Theon felt his entire body; blood, muscles and all his internal organs freeze and almost completely break apart at this reminder. His heart felt like it was about to be wrenched from his chest.

Rickon smiled coldly at Theon. "I know," He sneered, "Just think, if you had just been there for Robb, maybe, just maybe, he and mother would still be alive."

Theon was numb. No longer was he able to even appear in pain, no longer was he able to come up with anything to even say, let alone protest. He just allowed himself to be brought to the flaming hot anvil and was forced to kneel before it. He felt his hair being grabbed by one of the knights and he felt his head being turned violently as his head was lowered towards the burning anvil.

"Take this to heart before you're scarred and blinded, Theon," Rickon spat, staring at his victim, his golden Baratheon crown shining in a dark manner in the fiery light of the almost pitch black insides of the tent, "You could have had so much. Even if our mother didn't trust you, Robb, Jon, Bran, Arya, Sansa and I did. You could have witnessed us have children if things went well, you could have protected us. You've made the bed. Now you must lay in it." Rickon then grinned savagely, looking more and more like the animal that was his family's sigil.

"But then again," He chuckled, "This is very sweet. This revenge is sweet. Finding out that the last thing you will know before having your eyes put out will be that you failed my older brother and might have left him to die, and that you will never have the chance to spend time with the children that would have been your nephews and nieces. You will never see my children, Robb, Arya and Bran." Rickon backed away towards the tent's entrance. "Goodbye, Theon." Rickon said smirking, and added in the most mocking tone imaginable, "What is dead may never die, as your house says. You, after all, will never know the sweetness of death."

Rickon backed out enough so that he was now outside of the tent. As Theon watched Rickon's shadow depart and he realized that that would be the last time he would see Rickon, he let out a scream of desperation, that none of the knights in the tent seemed to pay attention to. And as they pressed the side of his face against the searing hot anvil, Theon barely processed the burning pain and the melting of the side of his face as the agony of what he had done and all that he could have had and abandoned took his mind.

Then Theon did the only thing he could do as he watched a molten burning sword in the dark, coming to blind him. In his agony and regret, Theon screamed desperately two final words.

"FORGIVE ME!"

**Author's Note: **

**Well, yep that was not a happy fic. But then again, it's a Song of Ice and Fire, what do you expect? Oh and if it was a bit rushed, sorry, limited time since this was meant to be a one shot and all. And as for the pairing between Osha and Rickon? I'll explain that in the other chapter, the other author's note. **

**Regardless of the pairing and how strange this fic might have been, hope you all like it. **


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